Guys. My fat hamster killed my little hamster. Good fucking job, fat hamster. I got home at 5:20 and heard them squeaking, which is not unusual, because when Red beats up on Blue, Blue squeaks and then runs away to the other side of the cage. My husband got home at 5:30 and heard them squeaking again, so he went to tap the cage to get Red to lay off it. But Blue was stuck on his back, he couldn't run away, and he was bloody and gimpy and definitely unwell. So we put Red in the hamster ball to get him out of the cage, and took Blue out too so we could take a look at him. He hung out next to me in a bowl with some bedding and some food, right next to their water bowl, and he kept getting up and crawling (pathetic and gimpy) around the counter and on my laptop. He was panting and his eye was bloody and his ear was matted shut and he left some little bloody spots where he sat on my hand. Robert and his grandfather went to find some wire mesh to divide the cage so Blue could have some time to recover without continued beatings from his fatty fat face brother. They got the cage separated and we put them each on one side, each with some food and water. Red, of course, started stuffing his stupid face, which is what he does when he's not beating up his little brother. Blue gimped into his little hamster house, and then out to finally drink some water, and then flopped down in the middle of his area. We decided to leave him alone to rest for a while, because we'd decided that either he'd be okay or he wouldn't, and we thought he would be okay because we are stupid, optimistic people. But at 7pm, Robert went to check on him, and he wasn't breathing any more, and he didn't move when we picked him up.
What if he would have been okay if I had checked on them when I first got home? It's killing me that maybe my pet wouldn't have died if I hadn't been so interested in checking fucking Facebook..
